Coached running sessions are a bit like PE lessons. But you only get encouraged (I used to get yelled at for not running fast enough. Not helpful when you have undiagnosed asthma and you’re going flat out. Scarred me for life with regard to athletics, that comment).
I had a lovely hour at the track. It’s all new and slightly cushioned underfoot. We did a guided warm up (I nearly fell over my own feet but no one laughed). We did some jumping and stepping drills with ladders and mini hurdles (I’d been worried that “hurdles” meant the things I’d not encountered for twenty odd years, and which I mostly ran through rather than leaping over in the approved manner). Then we did 2 minute intervals with 1 minute recoveries. 10, I believe. I didn’t count (and I didn’t hear one of the whistle signals because I was too busy listening to the bellringers practising at a nearby church, so it’s anyone’s guess as to what I actually did without uploading to Strava). And then there were guided stretches. These were also rather cool. If I wanted to stop for a drink, I could. If I wanted to stop for a wheeze, I could. There was no pressure to jog between intervals, other than my own stubbornness. And there were encouraging cheers from the coaches. It was a session for those who have not yet achieved a sub 50 minute 10K. My PB is 51:35. Back in 2014.
The changing room was basic, the showers cubicle-free but warm (and I had them to myself. Most people only have a tube ride home. With half an hour from track to station and then 50 minutes on the train, I need to be clean before I get going. There are limits to how long I can inflict post run stink without moral support from N). The lockers secure. I met a staffie puppy who was adorable and had the Waggiest Tail Evwr.
I wish I hadn’t said I was going to visit the rainbows next week. I think I’d rather be at the track.
The me who couldn’t hurdle thinks I’ve gone off my rocker. But it would be very boring if we didn’t change as we aged.